Gilded Serpent by Danielle Jensen (top 10 novels txt) 📕

“A what?”

“It’s basically a box that fills with steam and you sweat the dirt off. Or so I’ve heard.”

“That sounds awful.” Scowling, she jerked open the door to the little structure, her eyes slowly adjusting to the small front area, which contained only a bench and a few hooks stuck into the side wall from which lengths of toweling hung. At the far end was another door, heat radiating from it.

Behind her, Marcus shut the front entrance and latched the bolt, then began pulling off articles of clothing and tossing them on the floor. “Put anything that needs burning in a pile,” he said. “I’ll deal with it after we’re clean.”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye, biting her lip as he shed the last of his garments and wrapped one of the towels around his waist. She hadn’t seen him stripped down like this since they left Arinoquia, and filth aside, he made a fine feast for the eyes. He had always been lean, but their ordeal had stripped away what little softness he might have possessed, leaving behind only taut skin over hard muscle.

“I’m going to see how this works.” Weapons in hand, he eased past her and opened the door, sending a blast of heat rolling over her. “Come in when you’re ready.”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Teriana transferred her few belongings to the pockets of her new clothes, which she hung on one of the hooks. Then she pulled off her disgusting garments and tossed them in a pile. She examined her own body and made a face at the greyish film of dirt that covered her now much leaner form, her prized curves eaten away by starvation. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped a towel around her body, picked up the soap and cloths she’d bargained into her arrangement with the innkeeper, and then went into the other room.

Marcus was standing in front of a stove, ladling water over hot rocks. Hissing clouds of steam rose to fill air that was already thick with it. Other than the stove, there was only a long bench against one wall, two basins of water, and a large bucket of snow. Mercifully, it was dark, the only light the fire burning in the stove.

Taking one of the basins, Teriana set to scrubbing herself with the soap and rag. The water that ran off her was grey and foul. “It’s no wonder he didn’t want to give us a room.”

Marcus made a noise of agreement from where he was still examining the workings of the stove. Seemingly content he understood it, he took one of the rags from her, tossed aside his towel, and set to work on erasing weeks’ worth of dirt.

Her eyes roved over his body, drinking him in, heat rising low in her belly as he squeezed a cloth over one shoulder and the water sluiced down his back. The tattooed 1519 was as harsh and black as ever against his golden skin—something they needed to keep hidden. But that seemed a distant concern.

“Soap?”

She jumped, her eyes jerking upward to find him smirking at her, and with a muttered curse, she tossed the bar, laughing when he fumbled it. They worked in silence, pausing only to ladle water onto the hot rocks. When she was finished, Teriana stretched out on the bench with her towel wrapped around her body, relishing the feeling of being clean. “Not quite as good as my tub on the Quincense, but not bad. Not bad at all.”

“I don’t remember the last time I sat in a tub.”

She felt the bench creak beneath her as he sat at the far end, then the silence was broken by the rasp of a blade over a whetstone. “Did you ever go to the baths in Celendrial? When you were young? I’ve heard they are the purest form of luxury.”

He paused in his sharpening. “No. They aren’t for children.”

The heat was making her mind wander, and she thought of the new baths that had recently been built in Celendrial, the project funded by Cassius, of all people. She’d heard that the warmest pool was filled by a massive dragon made of solid gold. Once upon a time, she might have asked Lydia to take her, but now the only thing she could hope for was that if her traitorous ex-friend availed herself of the waters, that she pick up a nasty foot fungus.

Shoving aside her anger at Lydia, she said, “Keep that up and you’re going to sharpen the blade clean off.”

“Best you hope not, or the beard will have to stay.” Eyeing the edge of the knife, Marcus grimaced. “Not the ideal tool.” Setting it aside, he soaped his face, then lifted the blade to his cheek.

“Stop!”

His gaze flicked to her. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of it.”

“Hardly.” She rolled her eyes. “But I am fond of your face, so I’d prefer you not cut it off. Come here, I’ll do it.”

“How is it that you know how to shave a man’s face?”

There was an edge to his voice, and she smirked when she realized it was jealousy. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He glowered at her, and she laughed. “My great-great-uncle used to sail aboard the Quincense with us before he passed. He was ancient as the stones, but even though his hands shook like a boy working up the courage to ask a girl to dance, he insisted on always being clean-shaven, so us young folk had to learn to do it. Was considered something of a punishment, because his breath was bad enough to make your eyes bleed.”

Marcus’s brow furrowed, and she knew he was trying to determine whether it was the truth or a yarn.

“Come here. Let me dazzle you with my skill with a blade.”

Sighing, he rolled onto his back, resting his head in her lap, and she shivered as his hair brushed the bare skin of her thighs.